


One Foot Up and One Foot Down

by SamGirlDeanCurious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, M/M, Violence, some sex but not sure how much yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:26:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3324116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamGirlDeanCurious/pseuds/SamGirlDeanCurious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel shows up in the bunker one day to ask for Sam and Dean's help.  Lucifer and Michael have figured a way out of the Cage, and a power ritual is the only way to lock them in it forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Don't Know What Hell You Put Me Through

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Anchor and Moor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200159) by [Linden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linden/pseuds/Linden). 
  * Inspired by [Sure Got a Dirty Mouth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/411362) by [JustineDelarge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustineDelarge/pseuds/JustineDelarge). 



Castiel showed up in the kitchen of the bunker one day. Dean nearly scalded himself with the macaroni he’d been straining into the sink when Cas appeared right next to him, barely a rustle of feathers and overcoat announcing his presence.  Sam and Dean hadn't seen or heard from him in months, not since they’d found Meg’s meat suit, but no Meg.  It was no surprise to either Winchester when Castiel said he needed their help within five minutes of appearing.  Castiel did not just drop by for a beer.

Dean’s first thought, well second, after “shit!” and a panic that he’d dump boiling water all over his arm had been “fuck.” He knew what that look on Cas’ face meant. He and Sam had just started to get into their routine, like proper domestic people. They had a laundry day, a grocery day, and even a freakin’ trash day. Plus, it had been weeks since either of them had woken up screaming for the other from a nightmare. They had finally started to relax and leave some of the horror shit behind them.

Of course it was a crisis that had driven Castiel back to the bunker. This time, it was a big one, the biggest. Michael and Lucifer had figured out a way out of the cage, and there was only one way to lock them in it forever. Cas needed them to do a power ritual. 

"No, Dean.  It cannot be a pure angel or demon.  The spell specifically requires a human halfling, either demon or angel.  Since the last of the nephilim was killed for Metatron’s spell -”

“Uh, by you,” Dean interjected, giving Cas a very pointed look. Sam threw Dean his “seriously?” bitchface. Number 22, Dean thought, and then startled when he realized he’d been cataloging Sam’s faces. God, he’d been totally domesticated. 

Cas sighed and dropped his eyes before continuing with his explanation. “-and Sam is the last of Azazel's brood.  He is the only being on earth who can do the spell.  In fact, it is his impurity, the demon blood tainting his body that makes him strong enough to withstand the ritual and wield the powers it will endow," Castiel turned his ice blue eyes on Sam, who pressed his lips together and turned his bitchface on Cas, tilting his head indignantly at the casual denouncement.  Dean put his hand on his hip while he turned around and wiped the other hand over his face, trying to give himself time think.  His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and then he looked to his brother.  They shared a look, a whole conversation in a second. 

 _What do you think?_  
_We can't say no, Dean.  It’s Cas._  
_I don't like it._  
_I don't either, but what are we gonna do?  It's Lucifer.  And Michael.  They'll be our problem sooner or later if they get out._  
_Sammy, I don't like it._    
_Dean, will you ever stop protecting me? And don't call me 'Sammy' in front of other people._

Dean’s lips twitched and he inclined his head slightly.  

"Fine.  But after Sam and I do this for you, we’re out.  No more heavenly missions. Ever.  We've given enough for you harp-toting dicks.  You darken our door again, it's because you're bringing us the victory 6-pack we deserve for saving your asses. Again.  What do we have to do?" 

Sam and Dean took a deep breath after Castiel had explained the ritual.  It was the longest they had ever attempted, and required some very questionable items, even for the Winchesters.  Dean swallowed roughly when Cas mentioned bones from an infanticide victim, but breathed a sigh of relief when Cas volunteered to get the most grisly items, including the baby bones.

The ritual was grueling and bloody. They had decided to do it in their dungeon, in case something went wrong, at which point they could at least they could lock the place down.  

There were several moments where Dean thought Sam wasn't going to make it.  His chest was heaving, dripping with sweat and blood where Cas had carved Enochian phrases with the angel blade and then Latin phrases with Ruby's knife.  Sam dutifully repeated the Enochian and Latin he’d memorized, lighting the ingredient bundles and placing them at the appointed places in the salt circle. Halfway through the second sentence, Sam faltered, his breath hitching, and he fell to his hands and knees. Dean started, but Sam held up a hand, letting Dean know he was okay; he kept going with the incantations. There could be no interference. They had one shot at this and if Dean fucked it up because he was worried about his little brother, it was all over.

Sam gathered his strength and got back to his feet, continuing with the spell. Soon even Dean could feel the power rippling through the air, growing, circling, and making his hairs stand on end. Sam’s chanting went on and on, growing louder, even though Dean was certain his voice hadn’t changed volume, until it was echoing around the room. Something caught Dean’s eye, and he looked up. He couldn’t see it, but there was something circling up there, just out of eyeshot. Once again, Dean wondered just what this was going to do to Sam.

At last, it was almost over, just one last piece.  Sam picked up the mason jar (they kept their rituals classy) filled with the dark liquid.

They had been the most difficult ingredients to get.  "Blood from the King of Hell mixed with blood from an Archangel" the ritual had called for.  Sam and Dean hadn't bothered Crowley for years, and they were glad that he had left them alone as well.  He had been none too pleased about being summoned by them, even less so when they asked for his help, and there were many a quip about Moose and Squirrel.  The blood had cost them dearly, more favors than either of them wanted to owe the demon, but Crowley had given it up, pleased about having Dean and Sam Winchester in his pocket again. Though he’d never admit it, he’d be grateful to have Lucifer absolutely out of the way too.  Dean hoped the cost had been worth it.  Gabriel had apparently been much harder to convince, but Cas had somehow gotten him to agree, and the two thick liquids were swirling around in the jar at Sam's lips.

When Sam had figured out he’d have to drink the two bloods, he had almost balked. But he squared his shoulders, took a breath, and kept reading.  Once Dean got to the same line, he had flat out refused, raging around the bunker yelling obscenities about Castiel and the horse he'd rode in on.

"Sammy's been clean since Lucifer went downstairs.  And now you want him to get back on?  What the fuck, Castiel?  What is this going to do to him?  And don't tell me you don't know, because like fuck you don't.  For once, you tell us the goddamn truth."

Castiel's eyes had been sad.  "I know what I am asking-" 

Dean scoffed.  "Like hell you do.  We'll fight your war, then you'll vanish back to your clouds and if, if we live, we'll be left with Sam and his one man AA group.  You can't ask him to go through that again,” Dean clenched his jaw and stared at Cas. “You can’t ask me to."

But Sam had talked Dean down in a couple days and they had called Castiel back.

Sam looked at Dean over the rim of the jar.  Dean's eyes tightened in fear and concern.  Sam nodded to Dean, and threw the blood down his throat, never letting his eyes stray from Dean's.

The results had been immediate.  All of the power that had been circling around the ceiling suddenly became a visible crackling mist that had coiled together and shot down toward Sam.  It flew through the circle on the floor, and wrapped around Sam's body.  Sam dropped the jar, glass shattering on the floor.  His eyes rolled back in his head, body arched, arms out to the sides coated in silver, black and amber smoke wrapping around him.  He screamed as the smoke picked up speed, spiraled and slivered tighter to Sam's skin. The smoke twisted and tightened its path around Sam’s body, thinning out when it ran across the bloody symbols carved on his chest. As Dean watched, the smoke changed direction and funneled itself into Sam through the bloody marks. Sam never stopped screaming as the smoke worked its way into him, and it was all Dean could do not to race into the middle of the circle.  When the last tendrils slid under Sam's skin, his rigid body collapsed to his hands and knees and then to his side, back to Dean and Cas. Dean ran across the room, sliding the last few feet on his knees. He stopped just outside the salt circle.

“Sammy?” He said softly. He saw that Sam was breathing, but got no response to his name. Dean reached his hand out to touch Sam’s hair.  

"Dean, wait.  Look, around you,” Cas’ soft voice stopped him quicker than a shout.

Dean finally tore his eyes away his brother’s heaving body and looked around the room. Everything was floating; books hovered 3 inches above tables that were easily 6 inches off the floor. Everything on the swinging shelves was nearly 4 inches off their original surfaces. All of the implements from the ritual were lazily floating in small circles to their left, and even the salt granules that formed the ring around Sam were starting to hover. 

Sam groaned, and clutched his head. Everything fell back to the floor in a loud clatter, and Dean scrambled into the circle. 

“Sammy? You okay? Tell me, look at me,” Dean pulled on Sam’s shoulders, practically pulling him into his lap.

“Hurts, Dean. Oh my god, my head hurts, fuck. Jesus, they’re all in my head, Dean. Make it stop, please, it hurts so goddamn bad,” Sam babbled while Dean pushed him to his knees so he could look him over. He was sweaty and breathing hard, hands tangled in his hair, but he didn’t seem to be hurt. Where Dean’s hands touched Sam’s skin, his fingers tingled, not painfully, just . . . weirdly. Then Dean noticed the symbols. 

All the symbols and words that Cas had painstakingly cut into Sam’s chest had healed into smooth, black tattoos. They covered his chest, and if Dean looked at them long enough, they seemed to move, twisting and roiling on his skin. Dean touched them with one finger, and some of the ink (smoke? dye? demonic sperm? Dean didn’t know what it was under, no in Sam’s skin) coiled away from his touch, while other symbols rolled toward his hand. Dean snatched his hand back, unsure what would happen if he let the symbols touch his fingers. Sam didn’t notice the sudden movement, still too out of it from the ritual. He leaned away from Dean, knuckled his eyes once more, and then pushed his hair away from his face. Dean gasped. 

“Sam, your . . . your eyes.” Sam’s eyes were golden. Dean put both his hands on the sides of Sam’s face so he could see better, pushing his hair back and holding it out of the way. Sam’s irises were larger, spreading towards the corners of his eyes, and they rolled with different colors twisting in on each other. The insides of Sam’s eyes were moving. Amber spirals twisted with honey colored lines while flecks of shiny gold so bright they could only be classified as “glitter” meandered through the tangle. His pupils were of the darkest black, but Dean thought he saw shapes shifting inside the darkness as well, creating colors of darkness that don’t have names.

Sam stared at Dean then bolted for the bathroom. Dean rounded on Cas.

“What the fuck did you do to him? What’s wrong with his eyes? Whose in his head?”

“Sam is now The Instrument. He is connected to every angel and demon on Earth, as well as those in Heaven and Hell. He can hear all of them. In time, he should be able to control what he hears. He will also be able to search out and find any angel or demon he wishes.”

“The Instrument? And you didn’t feel like mentioning this sooner? Cas, that’s clearly not all that is going on. He full on Jean Grey’d the whole damn room!”

Cas had the grace to pretend to look sheepish. “Yes. The powers Sam would gain were somewhat unpredictable. The spell is very old, and I couldn’t be sure which ones were an exaggeration on the part of the spell’s author, and which ones would truly manifest. I believe telekinesis is only the beginning, but I cannot say what else he has.”

There was a rumble which shook the ground, followed by a splintering crash from deep in the bunker. Cas and Dean shared a look and then took off running. They found Sam in the bathroom next to his room, a long crack in the floor and the mirror shattered. Some of the glass shards had spots of blood on them as well.

“Sammy, what happened?” Sam showed Dean his palm. “Yeah, there’s nothing there. What am I looking at?”

“I . . . I looked at my eyes, and kind of freaked. The mirror shattered without me touching it, then I fell and cut my hand. Watch, Dean.” Sam picked up a shard of glass, hissed as he pulled it across his palm, and then showed it to Dean as the skin knitted itself back together as though nothing had happened. Dean stared.

“Okay, Rogue,” Dean took a breath. “So, you’re Jean Grey, Professor X, and Wolverine, all rolled into one. Awesome,” Dean’s tone implied that he didn’t think this was awesome at all. “Who else you got in there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is inspired by Anchor and Moor by Linden. I was curious as to what the apocalypse was and why Sam's eyes were golden. 
> 
> There are also a few elements scattered throughout that belong to Sure Got a Dirty Mouth, by JustineDelarge, a fabulous story that makes up a lot of my head canon these days! They'll be noted in the chapters.
> 
> I appreciate any suggestions and comments people have, especially if you notice any typos or editing mistakes I missed! Please let me know so I can fix them!


	2. Peeking in the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick one-shot about Sam and Dean discovering another one of his powers.

As it turned out, Sam had just about every X-man power, plus a few more. He was much more powerful than anyone had counted on, even Cas. Not only could Sam move things with his mind, a power he took great joy using to annoy Dean, but he could heal both himself and other people, and he could locate demons and angels when given their name, even ones he’d never met. Sam could also use his power to explode objects, and his control was improving. They’d had to go to Costco to stock up on light bulbs, because Sam kept blowing them out when he came into a room. 

It wasn’t long before they realized his new talents came from both angels and demonic sources. Sam had gotten a few tricks from Crowely. The first time Sam had disappeared into thin air Dean almost fell out of his chair. 

“Sam? Sam!” he’d called from the library table where they’d been sitting. First, Sam was there next to him leafing through a book, then a flutter of book pages, and he’d been gone. Dean stood up so fast he’d knocked his beer and his chair over with a clatter. 

“Dean?” he heard the answer to his query down a hall to his right. Sam came stumbling back into the library, one hand bracing himself on the door frame, the other pushing his hair out of his face. Dean thought he really should get him some of those girls’ hair bands like Lisa used to leave all over the bathroom counter.

“Sammy, you okay?” Sam nodded his head and shook it a little, holding his palm to his forehead. 

“Guess I got Crowley’s transportation juice,” Sam said with a huff. 

“Where’d you end up?”

“Uh . . . I was just thinking how I needed another beer and I’d get you one too, then next thing I know, I’m in the kitchen in front of the fridge.”

Dean gaped at Sam. “Huh. What was it like?”

Sam shook his head. “Uncomfortable,” was all he said.

“So, Hermione, before you go disapparating yourself to the dark side of the moon, where’s my beer?” Dean smirked at him, trying to cover up his unease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap! I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get this out! Ugh! Writing is hard. Plus, when I was struggling with this, it was Februrary and March in Minnesota, which freakin' sucks, and I had to put it aside for a little while. Now I'm back, and I've got a few chapters for you guys tonight. 
> 
> As usual, I love any comments or feedback. I don't own the characters, nor do I make any monies off of them. References are also from Harry Potter by J.K.Rowling, as well as obviously, the X-Men, owned by Marvel. I also don't make any monies off of them either. :)


	3. Never Felt Too Good in Crowds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go a little wrong when Sam and Dean are sparring. Drunk!Sam ensues, along with some good ol' Winchester angst.

Sam worked with Castiel in the bunker and outside of it for weeks. Pretty soon he could blow up objects as small as a walnut without scorching anything around it. He was continuously popping into and out of rooms without warning, something Dean was positive was going to give him a heart attack soon. Sam’s reflexes had improved as well as his fighting skills and strength. They had had to make some new rules around the bunker, though. For example, he and Dean didn’t spar together anymore, not since Sam had accidentally dislocated Dean’s shoulder.

When Dean heard the popping sound, he freaked before he even felt the screaming pain. 

“SAM! What the fuck, bro! Jesus, Hulk, you dislocated my fucking shoulder!”

Dean’s face was lined with pain and fear while he held his shoulder, arm hanging limply and at an awkward angle. This was the last straw. All of Dean’s uncertainty and worry, all the fretting he’d been keeping firmly tamped down in the “shit I refuse to think about box” flooded his mind. Sam reached for him, to heal his shoulder, and Dean flinched away from him. That pulled the strands connecting them tight, making both brothers distrustful for a moment - Dean of Sam for just a split second, and Sam of himself. They were thinking of Ruby and the ruins she’d left in her wake. Sam had let his hands fall to his sides, and he had hovered, his own face lined with guilt and concern, the old feelings of self-hatred and distrust from Ruby’s time washing over him again. Soon he couldn’t stand it anymore, and Sam left the bunker in a rush, grabbing the keys to the Impala on his way out.

Hours later, Dean found him at Vera’s, the dive bar in town the brothers went to when they needed to get out. Vera herself, 60 years old if she was a day and still able to bounce any drunk with a word and a look, was behind the bar, stereotypically drying a glass with a bar towel. She looked at Dean and glanced toward Sam, who was sitting down the end of the bar by himself, nursing what looked like 3 fingers of neat bourbon. There wasn’t another bar patron within 10 feet of Sam. 

“Dean,” Vera said gruffly. “He’s on his third round. You boys have a fight?”

“Yeah, something like that. Gimme a whiskey, sweetheart.”

Vera handed Dean his drink and he sat down next to Sam. He could feel the black mood Sam was in rolling off of him, could practically see if fall of his shoulders to slosh in his drink. No wonder no one else in the bar was anywhere near him. Dean was a little surprised Vera waited until he got there to bounce Sam, didn’t even glance at Dean.

“Sam.” Sam didn’t answer. He glanced at Dean and took another drink, resting his elbow on the bar. “Hey, don’t do this. Look, shoulder’s all better. Cas fixed me up good.” Dean swung his elbow around to demonstrate his repaired shoulder. Sam still didn’t say anything. 

“Sammy, c’mon-” Dean put his hand on Sam’s shoulder to pull him to face him. 

“Get off me, Dean.” Sam shrugged his hand off and went back to his drink. “Leave me alone.” Sam’s voice was soft and angry, tinged with the kind of guilt Dean usually lived and breathed himself, the kind not often heard from his brother’s mouth.

“No. I won’t. I’m not gonna let you sit here and beat yourself up over something that wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t my fault? Dean, I ripped your arm from your shoulder with my bare hands. I wasn’t even sweating.”

“Sammy, this new power thing you got rollin’ through you, you didn’t know your own strength, none of us did! I’m sorry I yelled, but gettin’ your shoulder torn apart doesn’t leave much room for rational conversation.”

“Dean. I knew.”

“What?”

“I knew, or I had an idea that I was stronger.”

Dean looked at Sam over his drink, paused halfway up to his mouth. “What do you mean, ‘you knew’?” Dean asked, his voice dropping lower.

Sam sighed and threw the rest of the drink down past his lips, pulling his lips against his teeth at the burn. “Yesterday I was in the dungeon, and one of the swinging shelves, the one that catches a little, got jammed. I pulled on it to get it to go past that part of the track, you know that’s a little bent, and . . . the whole shelf came off the wall. I mean, Dean, the entire shelf was in my hands, loaded with books and everything. Then, I carried it to an empty wall and set it down like it was just a stack of books.” Sam looked into his empty glass.

Dean thought about the bookshelves. They were floor to ceiling, and the ceiling was easily two stories high. Every one of those shelves was loaded with books, and not paperbacks either. They were talking serious hardcovers that could only accurately be described as “tomes.” 

“Look, Sam. This whole thing is hard, for both of us. We knew it’d be dangerous, and we’ve both been hurt worse than a little dislocation. C’mon, let’s go home. You’re drunk and -”

Sam exploded off his stool, violently throwing Dean’s hand off his shoulder for the second time. “No Dean! You don’t understand. I knew! I fucking knew that I was stronger, knew what I could do to you, and I wrestled with you anyway. We sparred, and when you hit me, it was like, I don’t know. Something went through me and I couldn’t stop it . . . and I liked it,” Sam’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It was dark, and powerful, Dean. It was me, and I wanted . . . ” Sam feels himself sliding back down the slope he thought he’d climbed out of and banished; the one that started with Dean dying and led to Ruby, blood, lying, and Lucifer. He pulls his lips tight as his eyes fill with tears. He also feels the darkness rise up to meet him, whispering wordlessly to him, crooning its crimson lullaby. Sam wanted to give in to it - slam another drink down and fall, slipping and sliding down that dark hill to where it doesn’t hurt anymore and he doesn’t care. He slouched back onto his stool, glowering at his hands. 

Dean watched Sam’s eyes slide out of focus, watched them grow just a little darker as the pupils grew wider, eating up the gold hungrily. He made a mental note to talk to Cas about this. 

Vera setting a glass down in front of him jerks him back to reality. Sam picks up his bourbon and pours half of it down, feeling it sluice into his stomach to fuel the fires. Dean had signaled Vera for another for both of them, and he does the same with his drink. Then he turns toward Sam, pulling Sam’s should roughly to make him face him.

“Sam. That’s enough,” Dean is about to say more, but realizes that Sam is too far gone, and it won’t make any difference. Once he’s down the rabbit hole with booze, there’s no coming back until he sleeps it off. He’ll have to wallow in his self-hatred and anger until tomorrow when Dean can talk some sense into him. “C’mon Sammy. Let’s get you home.” He finishes his drink, pushes Sam’s out of his hands, and manhandles Sam off the stool and out the door, one hand gripping the shoulder of Sam’s jacket and pushing him in front of Dean. He nods his thanks at Vera before the door shuts.

In the parking lot, Dean steers Sam toward Baby, but Sam rounds on him when he tries to plow him into the front seat. He’s got tears tracking down his face that Dean didn’t notice, and his heart gives a violent twist. “Sammy,” he says gently, cupping his face. Dean wiped a thumb through Sam’s tear tracks. “Get in the car. I’m gonna take you home.” 

“No, Dean. I can’t. I just can’t . . . what if I lose control again? If I can do this to you, you . . . what would I do to anyone else? I’m scared . . . Dean. This spell . . . it’s changing me. I’m scared of myself.” The last was a whisper. Dean didn’t think Sam meant to say it out loud, but then he saw Sam looking at him from under his hair. He looked broken, drunk, and tired, his cheeks hollow, unshaved scruff on his face. Dean though he’d never looked older or like a scared little boy in his life, not even with Ruby, not even when the walls in his head came crashing down and Lucifer hid around every corner.

“Sam,” Dean started gently, like he was talking to a terrified child. Sam had fisted his hand in Dean’s shirt, a sure sign that he wasn’t quite sure what was real and what wasn’t. “Sam, listen to me. So you Wookie’d out a little and tried to rip my arms off. It’s not a big deal. I’m glad it was me and not someone else. You and I have had our fair share, more than our fair share of the dark side of the force. There is no one on this Earth, in Heaven, Hell or Purgatory that I would trust with that dark shit more than you. I’ve seen your darkness, Sam and God knows you’ve seen mine, but we always come back, we always pull each other back. We still keep each other human, Sammy. That will never change. Ever. Now come on, get in the car.” While he was talking, Dean stroked a thumb across Sam’s cheekbone, and then gripped his head fiercely, putting their foreheads together. The other hand had dropped to Sam’s hip, thumb worming its way under Sam’s shirt to rub along the initials scarred next to his hip bone - Dean’s initials.

*S/D*

Now Sam spars with Castiel in the fields outside the bunker. Dean watches chewing popcorn or spitting sunflower seed husks into the grass. He watches Sam take Cas down again and again, faster and faster, until Cas, celestial being without bodily functions, is sweating in the hot, Kansas sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initials on the hips are from Sure Got a Dirty Mouth, with her permission. I just can't imagine the boys without them anymore! 
> 
> I love drunk!Sam. He's so belligerent, especially if he's feeling super guilty about stuff.
> 
> Please let me know what you guys think! I sort of feel like there needs to be something more in between the last chapter and this one, but I'm not sure what to put in there. Any ideas would be welcome!


End file.
